


Roses and Rhinestones

by Momentarily_Disembodied



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 07:48:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30001620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momentarily_Disembodied/pseuds/Momentarily_Disembodied
Summary: It has been two months since the battle of Hoover Dam. After his succession, Caesar’s Legion had swept through the Mojave like the new plague taking countless victims daily. Few were fortunate enough to escape but Gods forbid if you were ever caught. Men were either tortured or killed while women and children were forced to assimilate into their society as slaves or budding legionaries. Ghouls were imperfect thus had to be exterminated.
Relationships: Vulpes Inculta/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	Roses and Rhinestones

**Author's Note:**

> To be completely honest, I'm not even sure if I'm going to finish this. It's been sitting on my computer for almost three years. I wanted to do something with it but I am unsure where to carry the story. Read it if you want I just really wanted to publish it.

It has been two months since the battle of Hoover Dam. After his succession, Caesar’s Legion had swept through the Mojave like the new plague taking countless victims daily. Few were fortunate enough to escape but Gods forbid if you were ever caught. Men were either tortured or killed while women and children were forced to assimilate into their society as slaves or budding legionaries. Ghouls were imperfect thus had to be exterminated. 

Though his men and resources were spent, that wasn’t going to stop him from claiming New Vegas soon as he got word that NCR had fallen prey to the bull. The day he had marched onto the strip most everyone clamored their way into the NCR tunneling system to escape the onslaught of the Omertas but were instantly caught by the Legion’s Praetorian Guards. They were brought to the surface to bow before Caesar. They were given a choice: fall into ranks or die. He knew New Vegas was home to the foolhardy, so he enjoyed the massacre and crucifixion of those who chose the latter. He used their dying bodies as examples to keep and make his followers subservient. 

Blood rained on the strip that day and stained the already torn roads. 

After the death of Mr. House, I knew time had become a luxury I couldn't afford. His death meant there was only the NCR protecting the strip and they could barely stop the legion from growing in numbers as fast as they did. Then word spread that the Legion took Nipton and their relay camps had been spotted throughout the breadth of the Mojave. I would be a fool to think a man like Caesar, who has men watching from the outside, doesn't have a few planted within. 

Nero and Big Sal weren't idiots, but they were in a rush to be free of Not-at-Home. The way they saw it, Mr. House put a damper on potential profit and with him out of the way they could seize control of the strip themselves. Turn it to a kingdom of vices and debauchery. Not that it wasn't already. Big Sal, who is usually the mind behind their plans, cut corners and made levies where they weren't necessary just to make his and Nero’s broken plan appear flawless. Nero was the man in charge and Big Sal, being his right-hand man, made the plan happen by any means. 

They began to grease the palms of those who were prepared to backhand him at any time. Nero began to stroke the ego of the NCR and the Legion and think that either would go without notice. 

I was working the tables in Lower Brimstone the night the man with the brown hat had first shown up. He, Cachino, and two guards had just stepped in when I noticed them. He was laughing at Cachino remarks about whatever and so were the other guys, but something was off. Though he physically laughed his eyes were void of humor. Instead, what I saw were subtle movements. Like he was trying to put together a puzzle and kept looking at the piece where it all started. I could tell he was taking every bit of information he could. Cachino was showing him around, giving him a tour of the glitz and glamour of a Shit stain. 

There was a cold air about him. Like he had distanced himself mentally and emotionally from the people around him. Though he tried hard to blend in, I could tell this wasn’t his crowd. His posture was too straight. He held some pride for himself, he held himself to some esteem. While Cachino and the others all kind of had one foot outstretched as he talked, He stood tall with both feet completely aligned with his body and his shoulders back. 

I could tell he was a man of discipline. You rarely come across people in such a manner as that. Either old war vets, soldiers, and maybe a teacher but no commoner in the Mojave stands like that, especially in Gomorrah. 

Given that everyone who’s in the NCR is always in damn uniform or have their official ranking or badges of some sort on them, I can safely say he’s not NCR. Or if he is he’s not here on “approved” terms. But even then, most of them are a prideful bunch or very people-oriented. Though this guy had a sense of pride about him, it wasn’t the pride you’d associate with the NCR. The badges, the official uniform, the formal introduction, the patches; it seemed like his pride was in what he could determine. Intelligence? Or maybe his job? His skill set? Or Maybe what he could do to help his boss? His boss. His leader. 

Then I realized this was a man of Caesar. The Omertas were in bed with the legion. 

I wanted to believe that they weren’t stupid enough to do that. I had hoped that they took into mind all of the horror stories that played across every eardrum in the wasteland about The Legion. Sure, some may be exaggerated but how far? At some point, somewhere in those gross stories there was a sickening truth. Every myth has some truth to them. Any deal with them was too much of a gamble. So, no Omertas weren’t stupid, but in their haste, they were making a deal with the devil. 

Then Cachino had pulled a working girl, who was just walking by, close to him and whispered something in her ear. She was physically repulsed by how close he was to her. She tried to shrink away saying she had to take another patron’s order to the barkeep. He held her close, his arm wrapped around her waist locking her by his side for the time being. 

He was a perverse individual. There were rumors about him and his "taste". I believed every one of them. His eyes lingered too much and too often. He always had a fresh sheen of sweat on him no matter the task. He would get too handsy with the girls and say such unwarranted and awful things. I knew she wanted to get away from him as quick as possible. 

The man in the brown hat noticed her reaction as well. He watched their interaction logging all of it almost mechanically. 

He released her, not before whispering something in her ear. The girl smiled uncomfortably at him before she scuttled towards me. I had already taken my next batch of orders and began to make my way to the bar to fulfill them. I knew she was shaken but I honestly didn't want anything to do with Cachino. Even down to him telling me something the bosses said. 

"Reaux. Cachino said that Big Sal and Nero wants you in their office." You could see that she was trying to shake off any essence of Cachino that remained on her. 

"God, that man does not respect space." She said getting closer to the bar muttering to herself. 

"It's Gomorrah. The last thing on anyone’s mind is respect. Are you alright?" I joked, trying to get a smile on her face. Maybe a small one just so she could forget their interaction. Her lip lifted a little as she responded "I feel like I gotta bathe. Ugh! I can still feel his breath in my ear." I chuckled watching her rub her ear frantically. 

"I'm gonna go see what the bosses want. Can you fulfill that guy's order? 

"What guy?" She asked as I handed her the small slip of paper out of my bra. These damn skimpy outfits made it hard to do any job other than fucking. I guess they serve their purpose. 

"They guy closest to the stage. He's wearing a black suit, a goofy looking silver watch, his fingernails are tinted purple, and his eyes are bloodshot. He looks out of it. He just lost a fight and came here to drink his sorrows away. Ya know?" 

"Reaux, that's everyone here!" 

"No, an actual fight. He still has a little dried blood under his left nostril. Keep an eye on him, he may be suffering from a bad hydra trip too. He may pass out. If he does pour ice on him.” 

I remember walking to their office and seeing my coworkers keeping the guest "company" on the beds laid out. I remember the smell of sweat is so strong that it began to sour. The guards were so used to it. They stood there making sure no one got out of hand. I remember thinking I was grateful that I didn't have to do that or "entertain" the guest. 

My mother worked for Gomorrah as a working girl and unfortunately, that was the only inheritance she was able to leave me. She was Big Sal's favorite. I guess she was the only one with her shape. My mom was a beautiful woman. Her skin was flawless and a soft shade of amber. She wasn’t a skinny woman, but she could definitely fill the curves of any dress Sal brought her effortlessly. Her smile was always so big and genuine. When you heard her laugh, it was like catching a cold but a good one. The laughing cold. And even here she was always so caring. If she had it, she would give me the world. But that's when she was sober. 

I guess even she had something to escape from. Everyone does. 

She would tell me that he would bounce his ideas off of her and she would help plan out the finer details. She was the brain behind his success in many of his ventures, but he’ll never give her credit. He had become dependent on her and by the time realized that fact she was already too sick to cure. 

She kept me in her hotel room, away from all of the immoral activities. She gave me countless books and magazines to keep me occupied. She didn't expect me to pick up the information as quickly as I did but I was a sponge. She even got her hands on a military-grade-circuit board for me to dissect and rebuild. She did everything she could keep me safe. 

The day she died Big Sal came into her room to see a twelve-year-old Reaux sitting down reading a medical journal trying to figure out how to make mommy better. He had asked his men to leave and give him and me some time to talk. 

He only heard about me but that was the first time he had seen me. The first thing he said to me was that I had my mother's big brown eyes. His voice was soft. A lot softer than when I heard him in the hallways laughing or yelling. He told me she had passed. She said that she didn't want her last moments to be imprinted in my head, so she came to him. She made him promise that he would take care of me, not to give me the same type of life she was leaving behind. She told him I was a smart girl. I would be worth more using my head than on my back. 

To this day he'll tell you that my eyes went black. He said the literal glow dimmed. I knew my mom was sick and it was only a matter of time. I will admit that all the hope that I had died with my mother. 

I remember him telling me that if I wanted to stay here, I had to make myself useful somehow. Nero was on the verge of making me his newest whore and I had to do something. At the time I was sixteen and had a pretty good idea of how the Omertas worked. 

I began studying medical journals to join The Followers. I wanted to help people like my mother get better. I didn’t need to know their stories to help those who need it but if I could take some of their pain away, let them know that life is worth living, I would be living my purpose. 

I came up with a system to keep the house from losing and gain a larger profit and came up with a new beer that they would instantly put on tap. It was laced with liquidized Jet and Med-X but there had to be a balance between the two. Too much Jet, the lobby would be filled people going through different stages of psychosis and too little wouldn't garner a reaction. Jet was an upper but highly addictive and Med-x was a downer that made you mellow out but heightened your senses temporarily. Combined with the yeast in their special brew made return customers who stayed for the beer and gambled until they were broke. 

It took some time, but I approached Big Sal's office. His door was closed but I could hear his voice. He sounded like he was talking business with someone, but the voices were stifled. Cachino and a few guards stood outside the door. I hesitated for a moment. Something was telling me to run. Turn away and act like I never received the message. It was too late. By the time I got the courage to turn around and walk away Cachino called me. 

"Reaux!" I swallowed my apprehension and walked towards the door. Cachino vision wormed its way up and down my body. His tongue darted across his lips. 

"Why aren't you in there? Aren't you supposed to be third in charge?" His eyes still weighed heavy on my skin. I mentally gagged at the image he might've had in his head of me. 

"That's nothing you need to worry your little head about. Just go on in." His voice had become softer and lower. It was almost like he was trying to coax me into being calm. If that was his plan, it failed miserably. My heart raced so loudly that I thought they could hear it. I walked passed Cachino only for his hand graze my ass. 

If my hand could run across his face without repercussion, it would a million times over. If I could take my fist and hit him until he was unrecognizable, I would. If I could take this boot and bury it so far up his ass that he could taste everywhere I've been and every step I took, I would. 

But the reason I've been given such leniency isn't that my mom, the favorite whore, final wish was for me not be one. Or because of the Omerta’s profit gain off of my intellect. No. It was because I knew when to shut up and when to pick my battles. 

A drunken and vice-riddled insecure man desperately searching for acceptance in the womb of women he had to pay to be with wasn't a battle I wanted to fight that day. I wasn’t a part of the family so even speaking up would be a risky thing. Cachino wasn’t worth that risk. 

His laugh when I walked into Big Sal's office still circles my thoughts every now and again. There were two armed Omerta Thugs at the doorway. Nero had to pull up a chair to sit down while Sal sat on the couch. He was the closest to the doorway. Sitting on the couch between Big Sal and Nero was the man with the brown hat. 

Big Sal was laughing as he looked towards me. Nero watched my movements. He wasn't much of a talker anyway. The man in the hat eyes landed on me. It was like looking into the scope of a sniper rifle or a barrel of a 10mm. 

"Reaux. Bring me three shots of whiskey. Neat." He asks of me. I remember being confused. If he wanted a girl to be his bartender, he could've asked anyone. Why me? I wasn't the best-looking one here but I damn sure wasn't ugly. I got complaints that I wasn't as welcoming as the other girls but that because that's what they have to put up with. I played with the thought that he may have valued my opinion of the situation, but I wasn't my mother. He didn't care enough for my opinion on any other aspect of the business unless I had a new way for him to turn a profit. 

"Yes, boss. Could I get you anything else?" I had to put a smile on for the company. I fake cherry on top to make it look like this was a repeatable establishment. To make it seem like I liked it here. 

He lifted his hand. The outlandish ring that sat ring finger glinted in the light. It was gold with little white stones surrounding the perimeter of it and below those were a row of little black stone. It was something that caught anyone's attention whenever he moved his hand. Then he shooed me away. It was two subtle flicks of the wrist that made me realize that, in his eyes, I was subservient to him. 

My mouth had turned sour. The rapid thumps that were in my chest slowed down to what felt like the call of old tribal war drums. My skin tightened just the smallest amount on my hand. I remember trying to convince myself not to flip that fucking coffee table. 

But I remained calm. 

Then I noticed the man in the brown hat was watching me. His eyes locked onto my subtle movements. I felt like I was naked under his gaze. It was like he saw me and through me at the same time. 

I nodded and went to the bar around the corner from his office. The man in the brown hat made me feel uneasy. It felt like he was too calm, too collected. It felt like he knew every move that they were going to make and when. Nero, being the currently impatient fuck that he is, played into his hands. It felt like this was all going according to a plan and not the Omertas. 

For a man that claims to be a man of society, I could see the primitive thought process he has now. If I could see that, the man in the brown hat can see that too. They're not too far from the tribal ways they claimed that they’ve left behind. 

I walked back into the room and I could feel the tension. I could feel the words being held back from being said. I remembered trying to convince myself that all I had to do was take them their drinks and I could go back to my job downstairs. 

I sat the drinks in front of Nero. I handed Big Sal his drink. I was trying to convince myself not to look at him. Maybe temporarily occupy myself with a seemingly meaningless task like swiping the debris off the table. There was something that forced me to look at him. It was like there was a hand on my chin pulling to meet his eyes. 

That was my one regret in this whole thing because if I hadn’t looked, I would’ve been ignorant of what was going to happen next. I would’ve been a willing participant to my own downfall, and I would’ve been ignorant of his intentions. After all, ignorance is bliss. 

The moment that I looked, my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. Sal’s had a glint in his eyes. His eyes were always void to me. A black abyss that was endless but there was a mournful shine there. Like I could peek into the bottom and see what lurks in the darkness. The last time I saw something like that coming from the boss was when my mother passed. What were they talking about to make Big Sal have genuine pity for someone? What about this man triggered such a reaction from Sal? 

I tasted the faintest hint of blood as I looked down and reached to hand the man in the brown hat his drink. I was handing him his drink and he did the oddest thing. When he grabbed the drink from my hand his index finger grazed just below my palm. He lightly dragged it down to the middle of my palm then pulled the drink away. 

I knew what he was doing. To Nero and Sal, it may have seemed like he was simply taking the drink. Maybe misjudged his trajectory but that wasn’t the case. He was checking my pulse. He was checking to see if my palms were sweaty or if my hands were shaking. To see if I would jump from his touch or recoil; maybe snatch my hand away. If I were a betting woman, I would bet that he was the one who requested the drinks to be neat. Because the slightest amount of condensation would alter the results. I’d bet he wasn’t even much of a drinker. His eye didn’t have that slight tint of yellow. 

His eyes never parted from mines. Whoever this man is, I knew he was dangerous. The air around him was thick and heavy. It was like every move, every choice, every action was highly scrutinized and dissected by him. We were in a room with a vulture, and we were all his prey, and the bosses think because they’re higher up on the food chain that can’t be a victim. 

It wasn’t until Big Sal said “Baby doll, how far does the apple fall from the tree?” 

And I said, “In all honesty, sir, pretty damn far.” Sal downed the whole shot of whiskey like it was water. He didn’t even grimace at the bitter taste. He arbitrarily put the glass on the table. Nero followed suit. I heard his class make contact on the table. The man in the brown hat sat there just swirling the drink in his glass. Watching me. 

“You’re not turning the profit like we thought you would. It was either put you down or put you to use.” He sucked on his teeth a little. He was holding back on something. 

I swallowed the urge to ask, yell rather, questions for a moment. You know the feeling when you break something really important and there is no believable or plausible lie you can think of to cover your ass? Just put the feeling under a microscope and zoom in. That would describe my feelings at that moment. 

“Long story short, we have big plans and for those plans to happen there needs to be collateral. Something to make sure that we keep our end of the bargain.” Big Sal hesitated and looked at Nero. Nero, who looked impartial from the beginning, just shrugged. Then he looked at the man in the hat. He finally downed the whiskey. He leaned forward to put the glass on the table. His hat tilted down, and he leaned back into his seat. 

“Mr. Fox here found something that was worth holding. That's you Reaux” I heard glass shattering at that moment. It was like I couldn’t process anything. Not words, movements, actions, thoughts, I could even process the need for me to breathe. I think they could’ve slapped me, and I would stay stuck, lost in the panic. 

Then I heard the leather of the couch warping and twisting a little causing me to look in the direction of the man I now know as Mr. Fox. Then my eyes darted to Nero. Then Big Sal. My mouth began to move without my permission. My swelling anger began to speak for me. 

“Not turning a profit wouldn’t be because of me. It would be because you let your men indulge in their vices to the point that they are controlled by them. You lose more money from your self-indulgent thugs then you do from me skimming the pockets of the dumb fucks who come here. The only reason business has been booming and stayed that way was because of drunken gamblers addicted to the recipe I crafted and created and the games I taught y’all how to rig and be rigged!” I was profoundly calm as I spoke but that didn’t stop the rage from building up. “For the better part of my life, I’ve watched your men fall, victim, to their own pride, treachery, their addictions, and broken leadership. You all are controlled by your fucking ego’s that anyone could sell you your own caps.” 

Nero wasn’t having any of my back sass. He shot out of his seat so quick that it was like watching a bullet leaving the chamber. It felt like one too. His hand was too fast for me to comprehend. Before I knew it, he had smacked me with such force that I stumbled in the arms of one of the guards. 

I remember not blinking. I wanted to capture the look on their faces for every second there was. I also remember Nero recoiling his hand back for another blow. Mr. Fox clearing his throat was the only thing that kept him from hitting me again. 

“She’s no longer your property to treat as such anymore.” His voice was silky. Modulated. Like he already knew how to navigate the situation.


End file.
